


Not in the Slightest Bit All Right

by Elthadriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Human Castiel, Human Michael, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:51:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elthadriel/pseuds/Elthadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel tries help Michael deal with difficulty being recently turned human tends to cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not in the Slightest Bit All Right

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore how Castiel and Michael would interact after being turned human but I got a little off task and just wrote Michael angst instead. Who knows I might come back to this verse and write some more of them.
> 
> This is unbeta'd so I hope the mistakes aren't too glaring. One day I'm just going to kidnap someone to keep in my basement whose sole job will be to beta my work.

It took a moment of shuffling to find a position that allowed Michael sit with enough of the hot water pounding down on him to reap the benefits without having to awkwardly angle his head to avoid the watering splashing in his eyes. Once he found it he wasn’t sure if it was worth it.

He was tucked against the wall, one knee drawn tight up against his chest, the other splayed out gracelessly in a way that was somehow comfortable despite all reason.

He didn’t even know why he had sat down, or why he had got into the shower in the first place. His sleeping clothes, different from normal clothes Dean had curtly told him, with no explanation as to why, lay on the floor of the bathroom a few feet away with the new bottle of shampoo he had collected, knowing this shower had none left, lay beside them. He had forgotten to collect it after stripping off. 

He might not know why he was sitting in the shower but he knew he didn’t want to move.

People showered in the morning, or before they went to bed, or if they had got overly dirty during the day. He knew this. He knew it wasn’t customary to crawl out of bed at half past three in the morning and get into the shower. Ordinary people should be asleep at this time and he was trying very hard to be ordinary. If his father had allowed Lucifer and himself out of the cage as humans then there must be a reason for it and Michael intended to try as hard as he could to do what his father wanted.

But he hadn’t been able to sleep.

He was sick, Sam had told him that evening, noticing that Michael looked more miserable than normal. Nothing serious, he had insisted, just a bad cold. He had told Michael to ask Dean for some tissues before disappearing to whichever part of the bunker Lucifer was being kept.

He dropped his head back against the wall. The hot water at least made him feel less like he was dying, in fact he almost felt normal, or what had come to pass as normal in the three weeks, two days, seven hours and… He frowned; realising once again he’d lost count. He was forced to continue the train of thought without knowing the exact time. He reworded it in his head. He felt closer to what he had been forced to consider normal since becoming human.

He knew he wouldn’t be useful tomorrow, which frustrated him endlessly. He didn’t know how much Sam and Lucifer spoke, or how pleasant conversation it was, Sam seemed grim whenever Michael saw him, but Sam seemed to be with Lucifer most of the time where as Dean only paid attention to Michael when he was actively helping; and even then only when he absolutely had to. He tended to just give Michael a task and leave him too it.

Michael should have been insulted that Dean dared give him orders but in truth he was relieved. He was good at following orders.

Michael let out a soft whimper. He was so tired but he couldn’t bare the thought of returning to bed only to lie there for hours, with nothing to show for it.

“Michael?” 

Michael didn’t have the energy to be surprised but he did tilt his head slightly to stare blankly up at Castiel who had appeared without warning and pulled back the shower curtain. His hair was mussed from sleep and he didn’t quite look fully awake but Michael didn’t have a lot data to compare to; he hadn’t seen much of Castiel either.

“I needed the toilet and I heard the shower,” Castiel explained, rather unnecessarily. “Are you all right?” His voice suddenly less monotone and slightly more unsure.

“No,” Michael said weakly, breaking eye-contact and staring at his own feet. The answer was rather unexpected, even to him but he realised as he said it that no one had asked him it before so he hadn’t really considered an answer. “No, I don’t believe I am.”

“You should stand up,” Castiel informed him, rough voice, sounding a touch gentler than normal.

Michael didn’t explain to Castiel that he didn’t want to stand up, that he was content on the floor. He didn’t say that his legs had felt oddly weak and his body heavy despite no changes to the gravitational pull of the planet as far as he was aware.

Instead he climbed clumsily to his feet, leaning back against the wall, breathing loudly through his mouth to avoid his blocked nose.

In the meantime, Castiel had stripped off, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on the lid of the toilet. 

Castiel stepped into the shower next to him, flinching once against the heat of the water before fully moving under the spray anyway. They stared at one another for long moment before Castiel tugged Michael away from the wall. Castiel tilted his head as he looked at Michael who met his gaze with far less confidence he would have before.

“What’s the matter?” The words sounded strange coming from Castiel’s mouth and Michael wondered if they belonged to someone else.

“I’m not sure,” His voice was thick from the cold. “I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do and I don’t understand why Sam spends so much time with Lucifer but Dean won’t even look at me.”

Castiel leant in and pressed a caste kiss to Michael’s lips. 

The effect this had on Michael was unexpected for both of them. Michael melted against him, leaning heavily into Castiel’s chest and wrapping his arms around Castiel, gripping him desperately. He tucked his face against Castiel’s neck letting out a broken noise as Castiel wrapped his own arms around Michael, holding him just as tightly.

He didn’t think anyone had shown him any physical affection him since he had been released from the cage. He hadn’t realised how much he’d needed it.

Castiel pulled back but kept a hand on Michael’s shoulder, maintaining direct contact with him, staring at him passively until Michael found the words he wanted.

“I have desires in this form that I haven’t experienced before,” Michael said slowly, meeting Castiel’s gaze. “I don’t understand what they mean or why many of them matter. Some I know I should resist; I get angry sometimes, I feel that if I don’t destroy something then my rage will tear me up from the inside. But if I resist, those feelings fade eventually. How am I supposed to know the difference between what I want and what I need?”

“The change from angel to human can be confusing.” Castiel acknowledged, “Wanting isn’t necessarily bad.”

“It’s not in my nature to want, Castiel.” 

“Wasn’t in your nature,” Castiel corrected and closed the gap between them again, resting his forehead against Michael’s. “Let me wash your hair brother. You should try and sleep again after; you’re not well.”

Michael nodded and allowed Castiel to break away from him long enough to collect the shampoo. He stepped back directly under the spray, making sure his hair was thoroughly wet and not just damp.

Castiel reappeared after only a couple of seconds and Michael was pathetically grateful when Castiel moved back into his personal space, pouring some shampoo into his hands and burying them in Michael’s hair.

He stood relatively still as Castiel carefully washed his hair. Castiel’s fingers combing through his hair felt nice in a way it didn’t when Michael did it himself. It was like grooming their wings in that way. 

“What happened to our family, Castiel? I don’t remember us being so bitter before father left.” Michael asked as he stepped back under the spray, Castiel’s hands raking the shampoo from his hair.

Castiel was wonderfully focused as he rinsed Michael’s hair and Michael felt his muscles relaxed from the rigid posture he hadn’t known had been a problem until that moment. Castiel pressed another kiss to Michael’s forehead before he answered.

“When Lucifer fell for the first time we had a choice; remain with God or fall with him. Even though most of us didn’t fall the damage was already done, we knew we could make choices now. It divided us.”

“I was supposed to make sure that didn’t happen; father trusted me.” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Castiel said but Michael shook his head.

“I was never good at leading, not without instruction at any rate,” Michael said carefully. “I did what father told me to do. I was lost after he was gone. The apocalypse was one of the last things he explained to me. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“The Winchesters weren’t going to be used.” 

“But why would they try to stop it? I don’t understand why they didn’t say yes. I thought Sam might be reluctant at first. I understood that humans can be selfish and he might not wish to die but he was a good man; I thought in the end he would see he had to die with Lucifer so the rest of humanity could benefit.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me, Castiel. What did you see that the rest of us couldn’t? Why does Dean hate me?”

“I don’t think Dean hates you.”

“He was made for me; he was meant to be mine and but he won’t even talk to me unless he has to. I want him to like me but I know what hatred looks like, brother,”

“Have you ever felt it?” 

Michael shook his head, taking the shampoo bottle from the floor and pouring some into his own hands, hesitating long enough for Castiel to nod his consent, before beginning to lather up Castiel’s hair.

“Human emotions are more complex than you think. Dean doesn’t hate you; he’s angry at what you for the damage your actions caused, and that you were unwilling to even consider the other options.”

“I did what father had told me to do and beyond that what I thought was right,” Michael said. That had always been his problem he realised, at least after father left; he acted based on his own judgements. He never stopped to ask someone else’s opinion.

It was a fault he and Castiel perhaps shared.

Castiel was silent as they stepped under the water, pressed against each other, Michael’s hands in Castiel’s hair and one of Castiel’s hands on Michael’s waist; grip tighter than was necessary but Michael was grateful all the same.

 

“Where have you been since I got here?” He asked, scratching lightly at Castiel’s scalp, checking for any remaining signs of shampoo before removing his hands from Castiel’s head but not moving away.

“Dean told me to stay away from you and Lucifer. He didn’t think me talking to you would lead anywhere positive.”

“And you take orders from him now?”

“Don’t you?” Castiel asked, with a hint of bite to his voice. Michael wasn’t sure if he was proud or angry with Castiel for learning to stand up for himself. It reminded him strangely of Gabriel; though Castiel’s collected calm couldn’t be more different from Gabriel’s hyperactive enthusiasm. 

“I suppose I do,” Michael allowed.

“Dean is a good man. He’s worthy of following.”

“And I wasn’t.” Michael said voicing the words Castiel had left unsaid.

“The apocalypse was not the right thing to do,” Castiel said carefully, as if worried that Michael might break down if he said the wrong thing. He might even be right, Michael thought. Human emotions were unpredictable at best.

“I thought once I had won, father would have returned,” Michael said, watching as Castiel’s eyes widened minutely.

“It’s my fault he hasn’t come back,” Michael said when it became evident that Castiel wasn’t going to say anything.

“I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault. I don’t believe that the apocalypse was what father was waiting for before returning.” Castiel replied evenly. It was harder to tell what he was thinking when Michael couldn’t see his grace.

“It must be,” Michael insisted. He felt an irrational bite of anger at Castiel implying he knew God’s will more than Michael. The anger faded just as quickly as he realised had few reasons left to believe that god had favoured him at all.

“Why?” Castiel asked and Michael marvelled again at how unique he was; both among angels and humans; Michael doubted anyone else could have asked that question so honestly.

“Because if I didn’t do something wrong then Father intended for me to fail. He wouldn’t do that to me.” Michael said, the conviction he was sure he felt not quite reaching his voice

Castiel it seemed had nothing to say to that.

\---

Castiel led Michael back to his room by the hand. The heaviness and exhaustion related to being sick and under slept had hit Michael almost as soon as he had stepped out of the shower and he was desperate to try to sleep again.

Michael hadn’t seen Castiel’s room before. It was architecturally the same has his in all the ways that mattered but unlike Michael’s it had some moderate personalisation that made it significantly less depressing. 

Castiel released Michael’s hand and padded over to the chest of drawers and received a spare pair of pyjama trousers for Michael.

Michael hesitated when he saw Castiel make for the bed, chest bare, clearly expecting Michael to do the same. Michael had tried sleeping without a shirt, as he knew Sam did, but he had made him feel unexplainable vulnerable. Michael wasn’t made to ask questions or make requests however, so held his tongue.

Nevertheless, Castiel seemed to read his mind and paused, looking back at Michael.

“Would you like a shirt?”

“I don’t need one,” Michael insisted.

“Would you be more comfortable with a shirt?” Castiel asked and for a moment Michael was jealous of the way that, following his own transformation into something more human, Castiel had been able to hold onto his inherently straightforward view of the world that all angels seemed to possess while Michael’s had shattered around him, leaving him second guessing his every thought.

“Yes,” Michael admitted, as though it were something shameful.

Castiel wordless returned to the dresser and handed Michael a shirt before getting into bed, flicking off the light. Michael climbed into bed beside Castiel, reaching out and taking one of Castiel’s hands, taking the same kind of reassurance from the contact that he might from an Angel’s grace.

“I’ll talk to Dean tomorrow,” Castiel informed him, squeezing Michael’s fingers with his own. “I’ll make this all right.”

Michael nodded in the darkness, hoping, perhaps naively, that Castiel was telling the truth.


End file.
